


Yours in Black Lace

by GlassRose



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Sexual Content, Harlequin, M/M, everybody gets a partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:38:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRose/pseuds/GlassRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She" is in black lace…</p><p>P. I. Peter Parker just received the latest sexy note from his hot, anonymous admirer. Signed only as “Yours in Black Lace” the letters are becoming more illicit with every blazing word. Getting the cards at work suggests that she’s someone in the office, but he can’t be sure, and the not knowing is driving Peter crazy. When the admirer is discovered, he knows better than to mix business with pleasure, but the words are irresistible. And so is Wade.</p><p>Peter’s in paradise.</p><p>Wade "Deadpool" Wilson. Investigator, siren, letter writer. When Peter discovers it's him, he knows he should keep his hands off, but the words Wade wrote are unforgettable. And now Wade’s in jeopardy, he isn’t just a colleague anymore, he’s also a client. At an exclusive hideaway, Peter can't fight he attraction any longer, especially when Wade hands him a new card. How can Peter protect Wade from danger when he can’t even protect him from his own desire?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fourth Letter

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the 2015 Unconventional Courtship challenge. The prompt was to take a Harlequin novel summary and insert your own pairing.
> 
> This was really fun to write. Peter and Wade are very talkative. However, because I cherry-picked some of the worst parts of Deadpool's history--and it's a Deadpool fic at all--there are a LOT of trigger and content warnings.  
> Warnings: language, slurs (used by bad guys), destructive sex, (but also happy affirming sex!), graphic violence, mention of canon past CSA, attempted suicide, self-harm, PTSD, depression
> 
> Thanks to my betas [mari_gomes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mari_gomes) and [AnJ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anj) for their suggestions.
> 
> I do not own the characters but as the author of the story I do not want this posted anywhere else without my explicit permission.

Peter Parker frowned into his rear-view mirror, running a hand through his hair to fluff it properly. He was late. Gwen wouldn't care, so it hardly mattered. At least now Peter wouldn't have to wait so long for his perpetually tardy assistant to bring the morning coffee. He was somewhat eager, though, to see if his mysterious admirer had left another card. Satisfied with his hair, Peter headed into the office.

The glass door with the gold-lettered "Stacy & Parker Investigations" sign set off a chime as Peter opened it. "Hey, Gwen," he said, waving at his partner, who was leaning over the reception desk to read an invoice.

Gwen Stacy looked up with a radiant smile. "Hey yourself, late boy."

Peter grinned at her as he groped for the doorknob behind him. When he finally located it and opened the door to his office, she snorted. He backed into the room, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

"You're late!" sang a voice from behind him.

Peter jumped a foot in the air and spun around to see his assistant sitting cross-legged on his desk and holding out a coffee cup and a cherry Danish. "Jesus, Wade," he snapped.

"And I'm not. Ha."

"Congratulations. Have a raise."

"Ooh, really?" Wade leaned forward eagerly.

Peter took the coffee and pastry. "No."

Wade pouted, spinning around to hop off the desk and take Peter's coat. "You are so mean to me."

"It's part of my natural charm," Peter countered. "So what's with the red hoodie?"

"It's red and black," Wade corrected loftily, "and obviously, I am an autumn, you uncultured swine."

Uncultured swine was kind of harsh. It wasn't like Peter never picked up a book. "Well it looks very professional," he said, maybe a little too sarcastically.

"No," Wade growled, pointing at him. "No. You promised."

He had gone a little far. Wade was sensitive about his face. Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I did," he admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Also, I am wearing it to hide my secret identity."

"Which is?"

Wade looked from side to side, up, and down. Then he leaned in close. "If you can keep a secret." He unzipped the hoodie just enough to reveal a Green Lantern T-shirt. "I'm a superhero," he declared in a stage whisper.

Peter chuckled. "Of course you are. Can you sort through the morning's emails?"

"You got it, boss." Wade gave him a thumbs up and obeyed, his tall, broad frame disappearing through the door. Peter smiled to himself, shaking his head. Wade could be irritating, but he was fun to banter with. And it was true that Peter shouldn't have mentioned the hoodie. Wade always wore a cap and a hood to hide his badly scarred face, although the red and black jacket was new.

He ran his hands over the wood on his desk, frowning. He had been hoping—but never mind. It wasn't important. Opening the middle drawer, Peter reached for a pencil…and there it was. A red envelope with the words "Peter Parker" in beautiful black script. This was the fourth card in two weeks. He slid a finger under the flap to ease it open, pulling out the embossed ivory card.

 

_To the sexiest PI in town and probably the world_

_Something I think I should stop this game and leave you alone, but I find I can't. You enter my thoughts unbidden if I let my guard down for even a moment. I think of how much I want your arms around me, of how I could drown in your soft brown eyes. I can't help imagining the moments we could share, the things we could do to each other…._

_Your face above mine, your lips parted as you…well, I'll leave something to the imagination. Perhaps before all that we'll just sit in a coffeeshop by the window as rain falls outside and we quietly fall in love in a wonderfully cliché way. Before we go I'll duck under the table and go down on you. No one will be watching—mostly._

_It's a fantasy, but I can't put any of it aside. You're too alluring with your gorgeous wiry frame and fluffy hair and perfect ass._

_Until next time_   
_Yours in black lace_

 

Peter bit his lip, breathing out slowly as he tried to calm his erection. The smile on his face was harder to will away, however. His secret admirer might not be the greatest erotic writer, but her somewhat erratic, unfocused manner just endeared her to Peter more. Besides, it's never a bad thing to be complimented on one's perfect ass.

Wade waltzed back in with a folder. "Whatcha got there, boss?"

Peter jerked and shoved the card back in his desk. "Oh, uh, nothing. What's that?"

"Stop smiling," Wade ordered firmly.

Peter schooled his face into a stern expression for about second before breaking and laughing. "I can't," he sighed.

"Why not?" Wade demanded, glaring.

Now Peter was laughing at Wade. "I just can't."

"You'd make a terrible Green Lantern," Wade remarked. "Your will is _weak_."

"Right, of course, because obviously _you_ are the perfect Green Lantern."

Wade looked around. "I'm pretty sure this is the part where I look directly into the camera and wink or something."

"I don't understand you."

"Don't try. Anyway, take a look at this." He handed Peter the folder. "Tell me this doesn't get your Spidey-sense tingling."

Peter had given up trying to figure out Wade's strange references. Peter's so-called "Spidey-sense" was just something Wilson said, like calling Rogue "Sookeh" and Logan "Daddy 2.0". God, he hoped that last one wasn't a kinky sex thing. It wouldn't be out-of-character for Wade—but hopefully it was for Logan. "What am I seeing here?"

"Very suspicious bank statements. Which I illegally obtained on my own time and server, but that's not the point."

"Dude, you know there's nothing we can do with illegally obtained information. We're not the NSA."

"Zing! Nice one. I know we're not. But it's Mayor Pierce. I'm gonna blow that fucker sky high."

"How are-"

"Ahem." Both men turned around at the sound of Rogue clearing her throat. "This is Ms. Martinelli," Rogue said, gesturing to the woman beside her. "Ms. Stacy is busy with the Barton case, and I believe you're free to help her."

Peter stood up and held out a hand. "Thank you for coming to us, Ms. Martinelli. I'll try to help you however I can." He shooed Wade out of the room. "I apologize for the unprofessional demeanor of my assistant. He can be a bit-"

"I don't care," she said. "My wife is missing. It's been more than 72 hours and the police won't help me. But I know she wouldn't just disappear on me! She'd call, at least. She always has before. There's something very wrong. I've got to find her."

"I believe you," Peter said firmly. He found it was the best foundation when taking a case. "Why don't you take a seat and tell me everything you know."

***

"So this is weird," Peter said, sitting down in Gwen's office after Angie had left.

"You're telling me!" she said. "I cannot get a hold of Barton. He calls like every day asking if I've got anything for him. But no. His boyfriend disappeared and now I can't find him either."

"Weird. Barton said the cops gave him the runaround on finding Barnes, right?"

"Yup. Pretended for a hot minute, then laughed him out of the station. God, I hate this town."

Peter leaned over her desk. "Agreed. Well the same thing seems to have happened to one Margaret Carter, wife of Angela Martinelli."

"Margaret, Margaret," Gwen murmured. "I know that name."

"You should," Logan said from the doorway. "She was a fed, used to date Steve Rogers."

"Steve Rogers as in Captain America? As in the only successfully created super soldier from that freaky military project eight years ago?" Peter demanded.

"Your subtle expository dialogue is kind of awkward, given that you and Steve are actually friends," Wade commented from behind Logan, who elbowed him in the gut. "Ow, fuck! Was that necessary?" he complained, rubbing his belly.

"Anyway," Logan continued, "she blew the whistle on some money laundering a few years ago and was kicked out." He handed a tablet to Peter and leaned on the desk. "Rumor was she, Rogers, and our missing James Barnes were all involved with each other."

"Romantically?" Gwen asked.

"That's the rumor, anyway. I'm not sure it's relevant."

"Holy shit," Wade interjected, gesturing to the tablet displaying photos of Barnes and Carter. "What would possess a guy to give up those hotcakes for Tony Stark?"

"He's a genius billionaire," Gwen said, shrugging.

"You ain't saying Captain America's a gold digger," Wade protested. "How could you?"

Rogue poked her head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's a call for you, Gwen."

"Thanks, Rogue." Gwen took the call, and Logan went back to his desk to see what else he could find on the missing people.


	2. Practical Cotton

Which was precisely jack shit. Rogue, Logan, and Wade ended up heading home around six, but Gwen and Peter stayed late, trying to solve the puzzle. Looking through the papers, Gwen sighed in frustration. "These people have nothing in common except that they're friends. As far as I can tell, Barnes dated Carter before he met Barton, who may or may not have known Carter, who was a whistle-blowing fed. Barnes was discharged from the military after his arm was blown off by an IED, and--"

"Is there anything to that?" Peter said, perking up. "Carter's a fed, Barnes is in the military, special ops. Maybe he was working for the CIA or something."

"Could be. They're holding someone's secrets, you think?"

"That'd be one reason to take out people."

"Uh." Gwen frowned. "As much as the US government gets away with, I'm not sure preemptively assassinating all their potential liabilities in case they go Edward Snowden on the fed is something they could hide. Also, what would Barton have to do with that?"

Peter dropped his head onto her desk, mentally exhausted. "I don't know," he mumbled. "He's Barnes's lover; maybe they assumed he knew something."

"'They' is pretty vague. I don't think I'm ready to take on the military power of the United States."

Peter sat up straight. "We can do it, Captain Stacy. Me and you."

"Me and you and our cute little handguns?" Gwen said sardonically as she opened her bottom desk drawer.

"Well," Peter said, pretending to consider the options, "I suppose Logan and Wade and Rogue can join us. I know Logan and Wade like to fight."

Gwen laughed, and Peter silently congratulated himself for amusing her. "Given how often they beat each other up, I'd say you're probably right." She set a wine bottle on the desk with two plastic cups. "I'm feeling cheap-ass Merlot. You?"

"Oh boy, screw-top. Fill 'er up." Peter took the proffered cup of wine, but his eyes followed Gwen's hands. At this point his crush on her was getting ridiculous. He either needed to act on it or get over it. Naturally, he chose to drink instead. About halfway through the second (rather full) cup, Gwen started making faces. "What are you doing?" he asked, grinning at her.

"Just...thinking." She pouted a little. "Why _do_ Wade and Logan hate each other?"

"They don't," Peter replied quickly. "Well, Wade can be very annoying, but I don't think Logan hates him. He just has no patience for him, or something. I guess there's something in their history we'll never get to know. But Wade definitely doesn't hate Logan. Actually, I think he really likes him, which is kind of messed up."

"That dude is sad."

"Hey, now." Peter was defensive about his assistant.

"No, I didn't mean--I just, like, whatever happened to his face...and his hands...and I'm just now realizing might be all over his entire body. Oh my god. What could even do that? Never mind. I just mean, like, he looks like, sick, but being ugly is no reason to seek approval from people...from...like, Logan doesn't fucking respect him. He doesn't! And Wade like, wants his friendship or his love, God knows why. He's the entire reason I hired Logan in the first place! He's damaged, he really is, and he can't figure out who's worth his time and who isn't. You know?"

"Okay, so..."

"So! If Wade treated Logan the way Logan treats him, we'd have to fire one of them for the sake of office unity. One of us has got to talk to Logan about it."

She was right, and Peter knew she was right, but he had never wanted to bring it up with Logan, preferring instead to ignore it and let the two men deal with their issues themselves. "We will. But maybe we should deal with the missing people first."

Gwen ran a hand through her hair and poured more wine. "I can't think about that right now. Let's regroup in the morning."

"Right, instead we should just sit here and plays Kings or Never Have I Ever."

Her giggle warmed his heart. "I don't think we have enough people for Kings."

Perfect. Now he could find out the truth. "Never Have I Ever it is, then."

"Okay, okay." She was starting to slur. They were definitely taking a taxi home. "Never have I ever...eaten sashimi."

Peter took a drink. "Never have I ever...painted my nails pink."

Gwen drank. "Never have I ever been in love with a man."

"Wow." Peter finished his cup. "What was that for?"

"It's been a year, Peter. I didn't think you'd be mad at me bringing up Marcus John."

Peter huffed. Time to use this game to his advantage. "Never have I ever worn black lace."

Gwen started to raise her cup but stopped before it reached her lips. She looked pensive.

"What?"

"I'm trying to think. I feel like I had a black lacy dress once upon a time."

"I mean...uh. Underwear." Yeah, he was drunk. This was so rude. Thank god he had the alcohol to blame in the morning.

"Oh," Gwen said. "No."

"Never?"

"'pologies to your dirty fantasies, Parker," she said, unbuttoning her shirt to reveal a wirefree lavender bra. "Practical cotton all the way. I have to pass on the sweating, itching, lack of support, and oh yeah, yeast infections."

"You're kidding me!"

"What?"

Peter groaned. "Well if it's not you, then who is it?"

"Who's what?"

"Who's sending me the sex letters?!" he said a little louder than intended.

Gwen stared at him for a full five seconds before bursting into laughter. "Someone's sending you anonymous sex letters?"

"Yes! And they're always signed 'Yours in black lace'! Look!" He stumbled to his office to find the letter and show her. "This is the fourth one I've gotten."

Gwen read it quickly, her eyes getting bigger as she scanned the page. "Oh my god, this is hilarious."

"I thought it was sweet," Peter grumbled defensively.

"Oh, yeah. Totally. It is. Definitely. Why'd you think it was me, though?"

"Because they're always hidden around my office. So it's gotta be someone here."

"Oh, it's definitely Logan."

Peter cracked up. "No, I can't, I can't picture Logan in black lace; it's too horrible."

"Not your type?"

"Noooo. God no." A thought struck him. "Oh god, do you think it could be...Rogue?"

"Rogue in black lace, huh?" Gwen pondered it for a moment too long.

"Are you seriously picturing her in black lace? I can't even see it."

Gwen started. "Oh! Oh, yeah, you're...right, of course not. But you're assuming one of us is writing them. Could be someone else with an accomplice inside the office."

"I hadn't considered that."

"Call yourself a detective." She poked him in the shoulder. "You're slipping, Mr. Parker."

"I know, I know. I could check security feeds, but...I'm kind of enjoying the mystery.

"Aww."

"Call me old-fashioned."

"Someone's in luuuurrrve with you."

"Yeah, or someone's fucking with me. But it's working."

Gwen smiled at him, biting her lip. He loved when she did that, but somehow it didn't spark inside him like it used to. Maybe he was just drunk, or maybe he was starting to understand they were never meant to be more than friends.

"We should get home," she said.

Peter yawned. "Yeah, I'll call a cab."


	3. Black Lace

"I am so out of practice," was the first thing Gwen said to Peter in the morning. "I can't believe you made me drink that much."

"Yeah, I remember forcing you to," Peter said dryly. "I need my goddamn coffee. Where's my...dude."

"Water is better," Gwen admonished.

"I drank like a gallon of it last night after I threw up half a bottle of wine."

"We are such lightweights. It's pathetic."

"It is. But it was a whole half of a...750, okay, yeah, that's sad. Where the fuck is my coffee?"

"Probably with your 'dude'." Gwen smirked.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I needed him to not be late today, ugh." He slinked into his office and texted Wade to bring him a savory pastry. The thought of a sugary Danish or cinnamon bun set his stomach roiling.

He ventured out of the office around ten for water, just in time to catch Wade coming in. "You're late."

"Oh no, do you think I'm pregnant?"

Peter snorted as he took the coffee and bagel. "I needed this like two hours ago."

"What is this, a bad romcom with an annoying routine-obsessed boss? You're capable of getting your own coffee. Jeez."

"I saw that movie," Rogue said. "I love Sandra Bullock. Now you guys have to get fake-married." She pointed at Wade. "Of course, you're the Canadian, so it's a bit backwards."

"Sookeh!" Wade greeted her. He always called her that; none of them were quite sure why. "Love the gauntlets." He gestured to her crocheted dragonscale fingerless gloves. She always wore a pair, but today they were pink, purple, and blue. "Is that how you let the world know you're a practicing bisexual?"

"Funny you should say that," Rogue said, pulling a larger pair of gloves out of her pocket and holding them out to him. He took them, admiring the blue, pink, and golden-yellow paneling. "I made these for you, so everyone can see you're a non-practicing pansexual."

Peter laughed into his coffee as Wade puffed up. "You wanna go?"

Rogue crossed her arms. "You really want to start something?"

Wade deflated. "Not really. Your staggering beauty and ability to cruelly lay out my endless dry spell for the world to see are intimidating. Also, I like the gloves." He pulled them on. "I feel so powerful."

"The powerfulest," Peter said. "Now why are you so late?"

"Oh, that." Wade pulled a folder out of his backpack as Gwen came out of the bathroom. "I was at the police station."

"For what?" Gwen asked.

"Mayor Pierce is embezzling tax money. I've got...well, technically it's not proof, but it's a good enough start."

"So what'd the cops say?" Peter asked.

"Um...'Oh god, your face, get away from me, what the fuck happened to your face--'"

"Wade."

"Well the detective I talked to said he'd be happy to take a look at it, and then he threw it straight in the trash. So that's...not encouraging."

"What exactly did you think would happen?" Gwen asked. "After Barnes vanished, and Carter, they didn't give a shit."

"That's not related to the--" He stopped. "You think Pierce has 'em in his pocket and that's why they're ignoring Carter, Barnes, and Clint just falling off the map?"

"Well he sure seems to have them paid off," Peter said, "considering the warm welcome they gave you."

"Nobody gives me a warm welcome, baby boy," Wade said. "Which is so weird because I am very cuddly. Just look at this face." He contorted his face, making the lesions and scars stand out even more while his eyes widened in a disturbing way. "Who wouldn't cuddle with this face?"

Peter shook his head. "They're all missing out, man," he said, reaching for Wade's cheek and leaning in, only to veer away at the last second. As Peter returned to his office, smiling at his own joke, Wade stared, his expression a mixture of surprise and hurt.

***

"Hey, have you heard of Christine Everhart?"

Peter looked up from his desk. "Uh...maybe?"

Gwen set her laptop in front of him. "She's an investigative journalist. Airs some real dirty laundry, and I don't mean 'so-and-so's cheating on his wife' or 'famous celeb #3 had an abortion'. I mean like evil corporations funding human trafficking overseas and debt slavery."

"Oh!" Peter's face lit up. "She did that piece on Stark before he stopped making weapons, right? That was vicious."

"She's been missing for three months."

"Three _months_? Jeez. You think it's related? It'd definitely fit our narrative--if that's even the right one."

"Yeah, and worse, she was a freelancer, so no co-workers to give us information. Unmarried, no boyfriend or girlfriend. Her mother hasn't spoken to her in a year and was annoyed that I called."

Peter picked up the phone. "Well, I could call Steve and see if he'll ask his husband about her. I mean, I doubt Stark knows anything, but then again, maybe. She tore him a new one in the article, so he might've talked to her or something."

"Do it. I'm gonna see what else she's written. If there's anything about Pierce or something." Gwen left.

Peter stared at his phone, drummed his fingers for a moment, and picked it up. He dialed Steve Rogers' cell phone, hoping he wasn't interrupting something important.

"Rogers speaking."

"Hey, Steve, it's Peter Parker."

"Peter, hey, how are--hold on a second." There was a static sound and Steve hissed, "I literally just got on the phone. You can wait five minutes."

"Is that, uh, is that Mr. Stark?" Peter asked.

"It is, but I'm going to make him behave. What's up? How are you doing?"

"Great, actually it's Stark I was hoping to get in touch with."

"Stop it! Sorry, uh, what did you need Tony for?"

"Long shot here, but I'm looking for information on a reporter named Christine Everhart," Peter said.

"I'll put you on speaker," Steve said before he repeated the query to Tony Stark.

"Everhart," Stark murmured. "Everhart, Everhart--oh, yeah, I do remember her. Why, what's up?"

"This is classified," Peter began, but Stark cut him off.

"You're a private detective, not a CIA agent, man, get over yourself. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Give some to get some."

"Okay," Peter conceded. "She's missing, has been for three months. Gwen and I think Mayor Pierce is involved."

"I never liked that guy," Stark said. "Of course, I don't really like Everhart either--"

"Do you have anything for him, dear husband?" Steve pushed.

"I have...nope. But I bet Pepper does. Hold on, I'll transfer you."

"Or you could just--" A bad midi of a Black Sabbath song began playing in his ear, and Peter finished, "...give me her number...okay." He drummed his fingers on the desk for a minute before his mind wandered to the set of letters in his desk. He fished one out to reread it, running his thumb along the embossed card stock.

 

_Dearest Peter,_

_If your smile could be bottled and hung from the ceiling, we wouldn't need those special "natural light" lamps to combat SAD, because your smile is concentrated sunshine._

 

Peter bit his lip to stop it from curving upward, but his eyes lit up anyway.

 

_You bring warmth to my life, a life that was so cold before you stepped into it. I can't help the way I feel about you, and I can't stop dreaming about what we could share. I'd kiss you slowly, deeply, on your mouth, your neck, anywhere you wanted until you begged for more, but I wouldn't give you more yet. I'd tease you, touching—_

 

"Ms. Potts speaking."

Peter jerked and nearly dropped the phone. "Oh, uh, hi, Ms. Potts, yes, this is Peter Parker, um, from Stacy and Parker Investi--uh, your Tony--Mr. Stark suggested I ask you about a reporter named Christine Everhart."

"I know Christine," Pepper said. "Why, is something wrong?"

"Ms. Potts, could you tell me the last time you had any contact with Ms. Everhart?"

"About three months ago."

"Are you aware that she has been missing for approximately that length of time?"

"She's missing?" Pepper sounded surprised. "I had no idea."

"Is there anything you can tell me about her? Any detail might be relevant. What stories she was working on, and so on."

"She did tell me--well, it was in confidence."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Of course, ma'am, but she may have been abducted. I need to know."

"Hmm." Pepper was silent for a few seconds. "Well, she said she was investigating Mayor Pierce. She said she had reason to believe he was laundering money through drug cartels."

"Thank you so much. Is there anything else you remember?"

"There was something. She mentioned a...Major Stryker--I think that was his name--that was connected to Pierce. Does that mean anything to you?"

"I don't know the name but I will investigate it. Thank you very much. I'll be sure and let you know if we locate Ms. Everhart."

"Thank you. Good luck, and call me if you need anything else."

"Thank you, ma'am. Goodbye." Peter ran to Gwen's office and told her what he'd learned.

"That fits," Gwen said. "If she was about to bust Pierce on money laundering."

"Yeah, but like, every politician does that shit. Nancy Reagan went to Pablo Escobar's funeral. I'm more interested in this Stryker guy. Let's see what we can find."

Several minutes of Google searches proved fruitless. At first, whatever relevant results might have been were buried in other articles and blog posts. As they thinned the results, however, several results took them to sites that simply read "Classified Information".

"Fuck, this is useless!" Gwen growled. "Who _is_ this guy?"

"Hang on a sec," Peter said, pointing at a result. "What's that?"

Gwen clicked. "'Major William Stryker dishonorably discharged for human experimentation.' Human experimentation? What the fuck?"

"Says he was...reinstated. With honors. What is this site?"

"Canada Free Press."

Peter stuck his head out the door. "Hey, Canucks. Is Canada Free Press legit?"

"Generally no," Logan answered.

Peter and Gwen looked at each other. "And yet," she said, "it would be a good reason to hide every bit of news about him. Human experimentation is pretty messed up. Steve Rogers notwithstanding."

"I got into this business to find out whose husband was cheating and whether the maid was stealing the silver," Peter muttered.

***

"I am in way over my head," Peter griped as Wade came in his office and sat on the desk.

"It's more fun that way," Wade replied. "Usually."

"Maybe." Peter set his face in his hands, dangerously close to Wade's right hip. "I wanna help these people, you know, but the more we dig up, the scarier it gets."

"Don't worry, honey, I'll protect you," Wade teased.

"My hero."

"More like an anti-hero. Sometimes villain."

Peter felt a stab of annoyance. "You're a not a villain, come on."

"You don't know that. I could be. But my backstory is so absurd that I am infinitely more pitiable than, say, Loki, _fangirls_."

"What."

"You know, Mr. 'Oh, I'm adopted, Daddy favors Thor, guess I'll commit GENOCIDE'. What a dick. And all the fangirls and some of the boys adore him."

"I don't understand you."

"It's probably better that way," Wade said through a yawn as he stretched. His shirt lifted above his pants line, and Peter found himself staring at a strip of black lace.


	4. Beginnings

Peter shouldered his backpack and hurried out of math class. If he was quick enough, he could make it to photojournalism before--

"Hey, Parker!"

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face Flash Thompson. "Need something, Flash?"

"I saw you checking me out in the locker room, you fag."

Peter smiled. "Sorry, I only ogle attractive people." He was going to get punched. May as well go out with a bang.

"You calling me ugly?"

"Aww, Flash, I didn't know you cared! I'm sure there's someone out there who'll love you for you, but it's not me, sorry." At least people were witnessing his epic takedown.

"You fucking faggot!" Flash yelled, slamming a fist into Peter's face.

Peter went down and Flash kicked him until someone yelled, "Get off, asshat!" and Flash grunted in pain. Peter uncurled enough to look up into the face of an avenging angel. "You wanna go, Eugene?" the angel said coolly.

"You're lucky my mother taught me not to hit girls," Flash spat.

"Well, you're lucky my father told me to stop before I killed someone when hitting bullies," she countered. "You can get someone else to tutor you in biology. I quit."

The crowd dispersed, and the girl bent down to help Peter up. "You okay?"

"I think so." He tested the placement of his jaw. "Yeah."

"I'm Gwen. Gwen Stacy."

"Peter Parker." Holy crap, she was beautiful and badass. He might be in love with her. Oh shit, but she might never realize it. "I'm not...uh, I think Flash made it sound like I was gay, uh, but I'm not, I'm just...you know, either. All. Any. Some." He blushed. He was completely screwing this up. Making himself sound like a slut was _not_ the way to a woman's heart.

"Bi?" she supplied. "Me too."

He relaxed. "Oh thank god. None of my friends get it."

"I know what you mean. Come on, let's get you to the nurse."

"I'm fine."

Gwen grabbed him. "You're bleeding. Come on."

Gwen signed Peter up for some self-defense classes, Peter asked Gwen to model for his senior photography project, and they both bought Phillip Phillips tickets for each other the second they found out about a concert in town. After high school, Peter and Gwen ended up going to the same college by coincidence, and rooming together for a couple years. At a music festival (which they swore they were never going to attend again), they stared at each other's hands and realized their true calling: detective work. Once they'd gotten their private investigator's licenses, they managed to start a practice. The first three years were tough, but the case of the cheating politician finally gave them the exposure they needed to move into a larger office and hire new people.

***

The "Hiring Assistant" sign was hardly out for a day when a guy in aviator sunglasses, a burgundy hoodie and a black baseball cap waltzed in with a resume. Peter took his resume and looked over it. "This your real name?"

The man shrugged. "Well, if it isn't, my parents owe me an explanation."

"I don't know," Peter said. "I have to admit, I'm sketch about hiring foreigners, especially from communist countries with universal healthcare."

"But I'm an ex-pat!" Wade protested. "Ah, that's not even true. I have dual citizenship. Like to visit the motherland every now and then. Hey, that's useful though. You should hire me."

Peter smirked. "Really? Should I? Who would hire a guy off the street with a bullshit resume?"

"Rude. I made every effort to make that look real."

"You're trying to sell it to a detective. No way you worked at a PR company. Sales I might buy."

Wade scoffed. "You don't know anything about me."

"A PR manager doesn't go to interviews dressed like a homeless person and wearing a 'pan pride' belt." Peter crossed his arms. "Also, you worked for the Family Research Council?"

Wade slumped. "Okay. I didn't work for the FRC. Fuck the FRC."

"Seconded."

"Maybe they'd be less uptight if we did," Wade said.

Peter snorted. "Religious jerks obsessed with hating us LGBT folks are definitely not my type."

Wade straightened. "Mmm, but imagine Tony Perkins in a pink negligee, handcuffed--"

"LA LA LA LA LA!" Peter shouted, shoving his fingers in his ears. "NO NO NO."

"--to the bed and left there to rot. What do you think I am, some kind of pervert?"

"YES."

"Pssh. Anyway, I'm...I'm good at a lot of things. Look, you're a detective agency. You get threats sometimes, right?"

"On occasion."

"The more successful you are, the worse it'll get. I'm tall and intimidating and you can't tell, but I'm totally ripped. Also, I'm good company. I can always lighten the mood on a bad day. I know where the best coffee is and I...look, I could use some stability in my life. I faked my resume because...I was uh, in the military, and that's all I'm legally allowed to say."

"The Canadian military?"

"Sure."

"And you were what, a black ops mountie?"

"How did you know?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Okay. Weird, but okay. I want to say yes, at least for now, but it's not really professional to wear a hood and cap at an interview. Could you possibly wear a button down and khakis to the office?"

"Uh. No. Sorry. Trust me, the hoodie is necessary."

"I'm nervous about hiring a guy who won't show his face."

Wade swallowed. "Right. It always comes down to that."

"Sorry, are you Charles Manson or a velociraptor under that hat?"

"No, just..." Wade huffed but slowly removed his cap and sunglasses and pulled his hood down. Peter's eyes widened. "Pretty bad, huh?"

"Uh." Peter was flailing. Wade's face and bare head were covered in scars and lesions. Peter had never seen anyone so disfigured. He didn't want to look disgusted, but he was caught completely off guard.

Wade dropped his gaze. "I know it's horrible. I just--I've been sick, and it left me with this, and I can't afford plastic surgery, and I don't like doctors. But I really need a job and I'll prove to you I'm good enough." He pulled his hood back up. "Can I guilt you into tolerating my face?"

What a little shit. "Oh _no_ ," Peter said, sadly. "I'm afraid we're going to get along a little too well."

"Ooh, sounds promising."

"I like that you're openly manipulative."

"It's not often that I'm accused of subtlety."

"I get that."

"Rude."

"Bite me."

"Kinky."

"You have no filter!"

"That is actually not true. I do not say every single thing I think of. I could, but I don't. It would be very exhausting."

"Wow, okay. Well, you wanna work here? Go get me coffee."

"What kind?"

"Something with espresso and milk. Surprise me."

"You got it." Wade headed out, but then he turned and winked. "Boss."

Peter dropped his head into his hands. Gwen was going to kill him. What could he even say? "Hey, partner, guess what, I just hired a talkative ex-special ops assassin or something with no sense of appropriate office conversation and a fake resume and probably no credentials because he's more of a little shit than even I am and I just...like him."

Yep, Peter was definitely doomed.

***

Gwen growled at the computer. "We have got to get our media sorted. I don't have time to keep track of this shit. I've got three cheating husbands and a wayward teenager to worry about."

Peter touched his nose. "Don't look at me; I'm checking out two bars for...something--the client won't tell me what--and finding three different persons' birth parents."

"God. Wade, it takes me an hour just to find the picture or surveillance footage I'm looking for. Fix it."

Wade shifted uncomfortably. "I'm gonna be forward here and say that's the worst possible task you could give me."

"Why?" Gwen demanded.

"Uh. I don't know if you've noticed, but I have ADHD. I couldn't focus on that for more than a few minutes. It'd be hell. Sorry."

"But we hired you for--"

Peter cut her off. "We can afford to take on someone else. Our workload's getting heavy anyway."

Gwen raised her eyebrows at Peter as Wade hid behind him. "Could you give us a minute?" she said sweetly. Wade ducked out of her office. She crossed her arms and glared. "Are you gonna hire the next person who comes in and tugs at your heartstrings?"

"Yeah, probably," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

"This is a _problem_ , Peter."

"I need him around," Peter mumbled. "He's fun and helpful. Just because he can't do this one thing--"

"He scares the clients! He lurks in corners in a hoodie and sings bad pop songs!"

"I'm not firing him! Look, you can hire the next assistant."

Gwen searched his face. "Are you two sleeping together?"

"What? No!

"Because you were a mess after Mark left, and you guys just seem really comfortable around each other."

"It's--we're not! He's just a guy I--come on! I just don't understand why everyone's so mean to him. And can we not talk about Mark?" He rubbed his eyes. "We can hire someone new. I'll put out the sign."

Gwen put her hands up in defeat. "Okay. But Peter..."

"What?"

"Careful with your heart."

"There's nothing happening," he said irritably. As if his heart was in any shape to reach out to anyone. He'd barely managed to scrape it off the ground where MJ had left it. What MJ hadn't curb-stomped was Gwen's and had been for a long time.

 

Peter set out the "hiring assistant" sign again, and three days later Logan walked through the doors.

Wade saw him first, of course, and _squealed_. "JAMES!" he cried, dashing over to give him a hug.

"Wilson," Logan sighed in exasperation. "I've died and gone to hell. You look like shit."

"Thanks for noticing," Wade said gleefully. "It's all thanks to your special beauty regimen."

Logan looked him up and down. "Still working?"

"Oh yeah. Still working."

"What a shame."

"You're so mean." Wade pouted. "So, what can this company do for you?"

"I saw the hiring sign in the window but now I'm not so sure."

"How can you say that to your own flesh and blood?"

"We are _not_ family."

"Sure we are! I have your DNA. It's like you're my daddy. Except better, because my daddy is horrible. Daddy 2.0."

"Okay, I'm leaving."

"Noooo! You want a job? There is a job here! Gwen will love you."

"But I'd have to put up with you," Logan pointed out.

"Okay, you don't..." Wade shook his head and continued quietly, "You don't really know me."

"You're a corrupt insane mercenary who never shuts up."

"Was. Insane, yes, talkative, yes, but I'm out of the game. I'm trying, here. It's a good place to be."

Logan snorted. "Right. Why, because you--" He caught sight of Peter through his office window and gave Wade a meaningful look. "You're in love with the pretty boy here?"

"Shh. I'm'a go get Gwen."

Gwen liked Logan well enough, and he certainly seemed more tolerable than the other candidates. (Erik had skeevy eyes, Hal seemed irresponsible—and eerily familiar, although Peter kind of thought he was hot—and Pamela was weird and threatening.) "Okay, team meeting," she called after Hal had left.

"I like that guy," Wade said. "But don't hire him. Hire Logan."

"I want to," she agreed, "but I'm seeing office unity issues."

"What? Why?"

"Uh, because he's mean to you?" she pointed out. "Not a great way to start a job."

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Ours is a strange history."

Peter choked on his water. "You dated?"

"Ha! No. Oh man, that's...no, no, he is very...look, never mind. I'm not bothered. So he's gruff. We're all kind of jerks here. Uh, except Gwen of course, who is perfect and never mean or anything ever."

"Stop lying, Wade," Gwen ordered. "Lying to your boss is grounds for dismissal."

"Nooo! You're not the boss of me anyway, he is."

"Whatever. You're derailing here. You seriously want me to hire Howlett? It's him or Jordan. Jordan is at least...nice."

"Ugh, do not hire him," Wade whined as Peter said, "He's cute but I feel like I've met him before."

Wade pouted but continued, "Seriously, hire Logan. He's a good guy. Loyal, reasonable morals. And he's just teasing anyway."

Gwen shrugged. "Well, if we're all cool with him then I'll do it." She went back to her office to make the call.

***

"This place is a dump."

Wade sat on the edge of the coffee table, sharpening a katana. "So fucking what."

Logan crossed his arms. "Why'd you tell Parker and Stacy to hire me?" he asked.

"Us Canadians have to stick together to make it in this cruel country, obviously."

"Right. Right, and if you're out of the game, like you say you are, why sharpen your swords?"

Wade set down his whetstone and stood up, whirling the blade in circles. "I don't think for one second that we're safe. I fully expect Stryker and Killebrew to hunt me down and ask me to prom and god, I hate prom, it's so boring, the lighting's bad, the music sucks, and--"

"You haven't changed at all. You still talk too much."

"Oh, but I am even more charming than before. And prettier."

"Yeah, I can see my DNA improved your looks."

"It's hard being this sexually appealing to everyone."

"You are delusional," Logan said.

"At least I'm not short. How's your brother, by the way? I have such fond memories of him."

"Don't go there, Wilson."

"Remember that time he tried to insult me by calling me a big ol' homo? Gotta be honest, I was surprised he didn't know about his brother's, ah, _flexibility_."

"Listen, bub, I don't--"

"No, no, I understand. It's always hard to come out to family. Been there. Of course, if Victor wasn't such a giant douchebag, things might've been different."

"Don't pull that shit, Wade," Logan growled. "You went back to them on your own."

"I was dying," Wade countered. "You don't know what that feels like."

"I have a pretty good idea," Logan said, baring his adamantium-covered claws.

Deadpool grabbed his wrist and shoved his own hand onto the knives, glaring at Wolverine. "No, you know pain. We both know it too damn well. Dying is different." Logan retracted the claws, ripping through Wade's half-healed palm. "Pain isn't anything like dying, not when you're trapped by immortality like us."

"Are you blaming me for what happened to you? You tried to cheat death. You got what you wanted."

"What I _wanted_ was the adamantium skeleton and the healing factor and NOT THE ENDLESS IMMORTAL CANCER, YOU GIANT BAG OF DICKS."

"My DNA is not my fault and it sure as hell isn't my problem that they stole it from me to use on you!"

"It's funny to you, isn't it?" Wade sniped. "It amuses you that I turned into a monster. You think I deserve this."

"I think you overestimate my interest in your life at all."

"Yeah. You never ask about my family. Speaking of family, how's yours again?"

 

Wade couldn't remember, later, who threw the first punch, or how exactly he ended up bent over the kitchen table, scarred hands clutching the edge as Logan thrust into him, friction mitigated only by spit. Taking the pain and letting it happen, because what was one more level of pain when his entire body hurt all the goddamn time, and at least someone was _touching_ him, even if it was stupid Wolverine, and at least Logan was hitting his prostate and even bothered to jerk his dick when Wade demanded it.

Once Logan had come and finished jerking Wade off, he pulled up his pants and headed for the door.

"What, we're not gonna cuddle?" Wade complained, peeling himself off the table.

Logan just raised an eyebrow.

"Men are all the same," Wade said, sighing dramatically. Logan rolled his eyes. Wade staggered over to the couch and flopped down on it, groaning as he jostled his ass. He was definitely keeping a bottle of lube in every room after this.

"You never answered my question," Logan said.

"What?"

"Why'd you tell 'em to hire me, bub?"

"'Cause it was gonna be you or that guy Peter thought was hot, okay? So it had to be you."

"You are pathetic."

Wade looked down. "I know."

***

Gwen was mad again. "We need a receptionist who isn't intimidating," she declared. She pointed at Logan. "You could stop glaring at everyone and wear a shirt with sleeves. And you," she continued turning to Wade, "...ah, fuck it. You're hopeless."

Wade put his hands on his hips in mock indignance. "Rude. I'm cuddly. Aren't I cuddly, Petey Pie?"

"Of course you are, Wadie...W...Waffles...." He winced as Wade shook his head.

"Waffles? Really?"

"Short notice, man, cut me some slack. Like 'Petey Pie' isn't stupid."

"Well, if that's how you feel--"

"We are hiring someone new!" Gwen said loudly. "And this time 'not intimidating' is a requirement."

"I know a kid," Logan said. They all looked at him. "She's nice, and she could use a job. Smart as a whip. A little shy, but I think she could get over that."

Gwen put out a sign anyway, for the sake of fairness.

Hal tried to apply again, but Wade threatened him. "Try somewhere else, pretty boy," he said icily.

Wade's intimidation tactics had no effect. "I'm not scared of anything," Hal said loftily.

"You should be." Wade realized his tactic wasn't working and started sulking. "Look, I'm trying to score with my boss, all right? And how's he gonna notice me with you around?"

"Uh, I'm straight."

"Then you won't fit in at all. _We're all bi here_ ," he said, imitating the Cheshire Cat.

"What's your problem, man?"

"My problem is that you're saturating the story with DC references. It's throwing the continuity and you need to leave. The boxes agree. In fact, the only reason you can be here is because I just lampshaded the overuse of Green Lantern references. And now I'm lampshading the lampshade."

"What the fuck, dude? You're creepy."

Wade grinned widely and pulled off his hood. "Yes."

"Aw, _fuck_ , that's weird."

"Like looking in a mirror, right?"

"Not one I ever want to look in again, no offense, dude, I just. I really like my face."

"Then fuck off. Dude."

"All right, all right." Hal flounced off.

Harley was too overbearing and Artemis too defensive. In the end, Gwen hired Logan's friend Rogue, who wore soft charcoal hoodies and crocheted dragonscale gloves. Wade called her "Sookeh", and Logan moved his desk to the corner, where it was harder for him to scare clients.

Rogue had a shock of white hair at the front of her head, but as she grew more comfortable in the office, she began dyeing it. Sometimes red, sometimes green, and one slow day, Gwen helped her dye it blue, purple, and pink, which Wade praised. Despite the animosity between Logan and Wade, everyone in S & P got along well.

***

Mostly, anyway. Wade had lost count of the times he'd had this hate-sex with Logan. It wasn't what he'd call good wholesome fun, but it was the only constant thing he had. And at least Logan understood why he was the way he was, which was more than anyone else did. Wade's face was buried in a pillow, his ass in the air as Logan fucked him, rough hand sliding up and down his cock, but it wasn't doing anything for him. His body ached, and his stomach clenched, and suddenly it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to drown out the voices in his head, the pain in his skin, the horrible emptiness in his gut.

"Stop," he whispered, but Logan didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did. It wouldn't be the first time no one gave a shit about what Wade wanted. "Please stop," he said, a little louder, his voice shaking.

Logan paused. "What?"

"I can't do this anymore." Wade swallowed. At least he'd said it. Logan would finish, it'd be over, and he'd know it wasn't going to happen again.

Logan pulled out. "Okay."

Wade almost cried with relief. "Please get out."

"Okay." Logan pulled up his pants and zipped them. Once Wade heard the front door close, he crawled off the bed and trudged to the bathroom, propping himself up on the sink and forcing himself to look in the mirror. His shirt was still on, and he yanked it over his head. A disfigured monster stared back at him. He focused on the dark brown eyes. Those at least remained unchanged most of the time. They gazed back at him as he tried to see the Wade Wilson with smooth skin, good hair, pretty cheekbones, and some motherfucking eyebrows. The Wade Wilson who could go out in public shirtless and people appreciated it instead of screaming and running away. If he had just let the cancer kill him, he wouldn't be doomed to eternity as a monster. Maybe he deserved it for trying to cheat death. Or for any of the other shit he'd done before the cancer.

Wade sank down onto the floor and curled up in the ball, trying and failing not to cry. Was it too goddamn much to ask for someone to care about him? Yes, probably, given everything that he was and everything he'd done. Even his parents had thought he was shit. Couldn't please Mama--god, that was fucked, what she had made him do to her--couldn't please Papa, 'cause Papa had kicked his ass when he found out what he'd done with Mama, and maybe none of that was his fault, he was just a kid, but then again, maybe it was. If he hadn't been so worthless as a child maybe Mom wouldn't have thought he was only good for...for that.

The cancer wasn't the tragedy. That he had tried to stop it from ending the steaming pile of never-ending bullshit that was his life was the tragedy, and now he'd pay for it until the end of time, or until someone found a way to kill him, and god, couldn't it be right now? Right goddamn now.

Wade crawled to his nightstand, fished around for a knife, and staggered back to the bathroom to turn on the shower. As the water ran down his naked body, he stabbed the knife into his wrist and dragged it down his forearm, grunting in pain. Blood flowed from the wound and washed down the drain. He drove the knife into the other arm with a shaking hand, wishing desperately that this could be it, that this time he'd go under and never come up, that they'd find his body a few days later, and bury it, and he'd be gone.

Because there was nothing and no one that could ever save him. He'd learned he could love again when he first saw that sunshine smile in the coffee shop, but no one loved him back, and no one ever would. His existence was a cosmic joke. The gods were probably laughing at his pain. No, not probably. He knew they were, because his cuts were already closing and healing.

Wade screamed in rage and slammed a fist into the tiles, which cracked. His stomach clenched, and he dropped to his knees to vomit.

The water grew cold on his back before he finally found the strength to move. He shut off the water and walked, dripping, to his bed, crawling under the covers and waiting for sleep to give him some respite.

 

He didn't get to work until ten the next day. Logan pulled him aside but Wade wrenched his arm out of Wolverine's grip and growled, "Don't touch me." Logan frowned, but Wade finished, "Ever again."

"Whatever you say, bub," Logan conceded. Wade shouldered past him to apologize to Peter.

"You're late," Peter said, looking up from the newspaper.

"Uh." Wade rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You okay?"

"Sure." His voice was muffled by his hands.

"I ran down to Off the Grounds to get the coffee. Picked you up a mocha frappe, if you want it. And they had these really good cinnamon rolls with cream cheese icing, so I got us some."

Sometimes the gods sent angels to Earth. Of course, the gods got off on tormenting him, which meant Peter was a rebel angel, which was super awesome; besides, if Castiel could love Dean Winchester on that stupid TV show, maybe Peter did honestly like Wade Wilson. Wade lifted his head, an actual smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks," he said. Their fingers brushed together as Wade accepted the drink. "Hey, John Constantine, you ever thought about a trench coat? You are a PI, after all."

Peter stared at him. "What?" Wade loved the way his eyes crinkled when he was simultaneously confused and amused.

"Yeah, that was a daisy chain of a reference. I started with _Supernatural_ , and you know what, never mind."

"What is _Supernatural_?"

"Oh you know, that TV show, the angel wears a trench coat and he's in love with the--seriously, never mind. What's on the list today?"

Peter started telling Wade the things he needed done, but Wade was only half listening, as an idea was hatching in his mind. After work, he was going to buy some nice cards and red envelopes.


	5. Revelation

"Black lace!!" Peter yelled.

Wade jumped off the desk and backed away, jerking his shirt down. "Bzuh?"

"Is that a black lace corset?"

"It's slimming."

"But why the black lace?"

"It's pretty?"

"It's you!"

"Might be."

Peter advanced on him. "You've been writing to me!"

"Uh. Busted."

"They...but...was it a joke?"

Wade made an indignant noise. "No! Jesus, I wouldn't--well, I mean, I might, but not to you, I'd never fuck with you like that."

"But..." Peter struggled to find the words. "Why not just...you know, ask me out for coffee or something? Why the sneaky letters?"

"I don't know, isn't that the reasonable thing to do with your sexual and romantic frustration when you know your feelings will never be reciprocated?"

Peter squeaked indignantly, and Wade took advantage of his momentary shock to make a break for it. "Wait! Wade!" Peter followed him, but Wade ran out the front door before Peter could stop him. Peter blinked, bewildered. "What the fuck just happened?"

"I'm curious myself," Gwen commented. Peter grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into her office.

The second the door shut, he exploded. "It was him!" he hissed. "Wade! Black lace person!"

"Yeah, I kind of figured."

Peter rounded on her. "What do you mean you figured? You didn't say anything!"

"I know, but I was thinking about it this morning when I wasn't drunk anymore. I'm like eighty percent sure I've seen him wearing black lace underwear before, but mostly, haven't you seen the way he looks at you?"

"I...I don't know. I guess I just thought...that's just Wade, you know?"

Gwen raised her eyebrows. "He gravitates toward you, he looks ridiculously pleased when he makes you laugh, and no one else can bring him out of a black mood like you. Of course he's in love with you."

Peter looked up sharply. "In love? Isn't that a little...extreme?"

"Wade's an extreme kind of guy."

"But...he said...okay, assuming all that is true, why would he think I could never, you know, um, love him back? He knows I'm bi, it's not like—"

"Oh my god, Peter. Sometimes being disfigured gets to people. You can pretend you don't see it, or that you don't care, or you can even mean it, but it's hard for him to believe someone could actually want him. If you like him, you have to tell him."

"I don't know," Peter whined. "I mean…he's fun, and built, and tall, and he has the cutest eyes, and...okay. Sure. I could. Maybe I kind of do, and it is nice being wanted for a change."

"So what's the problem?"

"I don't know, I'm his boss! That's, you know, a problem. I can't. We can't. What if it doesn't work out and I break his heart? I'd hate myself."

Gwen took his hand. "Wouldn't it be worth finding out? Besides, he just walked into the demons' lair and told them he was gunning for Pierce."

"Fuck." Peter hit the desk. "Fuck, he's next."

"We don't know that for sure."

"There's a pretty good chance, though. Shit, shit! If he disappears...no. I can't. I...fuck. I'm calling Stark. I know he's got a couple secret cabins. I gotta keep him safe."

Gwen smirked. "Fuck his brains out."

"No! I'm not gonna do that; it'd be taking advantage of the power dynamics and the tense emotional situation and it's wrong!"

"Suuuuuuure."

"Shut up, Gwen!" Peter yelled over his shoulder as he left the office.

***

The "D" button was sticky. Peter wiped his hand on his jacket, wrinkling his nose. The speaker crackled with static as Wade's high voice asked, "Who are you and why are you bothering me? You better have brought pizza."

Peter snorted. "I didn't, but can I come in anyway? We need to talk about some things."

There was no answer, but the door clicked open. The hallways were dingy, the carpeting stained. Maybe Wade did need a raise. Apartment D's door was slightly ajar, so Peter entered without knocking, closing the door behind him. "I should've brought pizza, but I got distracted." Jeez, the place was a mess. Peter could hardly be accused of tidiness, but this was a whole other level. Clothes were strewn across the floor, Chinese food cartons sat empty on multiple surfaces, and a half-eaten bag of chips was upended on the coffee table, which had deep notches in it. It was weird: they were almost like claw marks, although the scored lines were grouped in threes.

The pile of blankets and pillows on the couch shifted as a muffled voice came from them. "Can we just...forget it? The unrequited love thing is fine. I don't want you to hate me."

Peter looked up from the table. "I don't, come on, man. But that's not why I'm here."

Wade's eyes peered out from the bedding. "Why are you here? You didn't even bring pizza."

"Yeah, we don't have time for pizza. We have to go."

"Go where? Is it Disney World? I've never been to Disney World."

"You went to the police with evidence against Pierce."

"Yeah, and?"

"And we're pretty sure it's Pierce who's been kidnapping or killing people. Everhart was investigating him, Carter was a fed who blew the whistle on corruption, and Barnes was in the military."

"What does Pierce have to do with the military?" Wade asked, sitting up.

"Well, Everhart seemed to think he was connected with this guy Major Stryker, who may or may not have been in trouble for, uh, human experimentation. And since Barnes was in special ops, maybe he knew something that--what are you doing?"

"Getting the fuck out of here," Wade said, grabbing a duffel bag and shoving dirty clothes into it.

"Wait, WAIT, okay, do you even own a washing machine? Never mind, look, Stark's letting me borrow his cabin for a few days while Logan and Rogers keep an eye on your place and see what happens."

Wade paused. "Really? So Logan knows..."

"Knows what?"

"About Stryker."

"Who is he?" Peter demanded. "What do you know?"

Wade reached under the couch and felt around. "Honestly, I like you too much to tell you anything."

Peter wrenched his eyes away from the man's denim-clad ass. "Wade, come on! We're friends, right? If you know something, you have to--" A horrible thought struck him. Human experimentation could leave scars. "It's not...he wasn't..." He knelt down and put a hand on Wade's shoulder, who jerked around and grabbed his arm, accidentally shoving Peter's hand against Wade's cheek. They sat, frozen, staring at each other, until Wade broke the spell.

"Why don't we talk about more fun things?"

"Why don't we do it at Stark's cabin? Totally off the grid; no one even knows it's there."

"Ugh! Why are you being weird?"

"How am I being weird? I'm not being weird! I'm being normal!"

"You are being weird! You're not freaking out about the dirty letters I wrote! Why not?"

"Gee I dunno, maybe because I'm worried your life is in danger and that's higher on my list of things to freak out about?"

"So you're gonna freak out later?"

Peter threw up his hands. "I didn't say that!"

"You totally said tha--"

"Shut up! Pack! We're going! My stuff's already in the car!"

"You're not the boss of me!"

"Yes I am!"

"...Kinky."

"Oh my _god_."

Wade let out a heavy breath. "Okay. All right. We do it your way, but I have a condition."

Peter crossed his arms. "What is it?"

"Remember when I told you I knew how to shoot a gun?"

"Yeah."

"If something happens, if someone comes for me, you stay the fuck out of the way. Let me handle it, because I can take care of myself."

"But I--

"I mean it. I can't...I don't want something to happen to you because of me. So. Promise."

"Wade--"

"Promise or I will pester you until you do and you know I can. I can and I will, which you also know. Promise me. Promise. Promise. Say yes. Say it. Now. Say it or I won't--"

"OKAY, I get it, you're a superhero."

They locked gazes for a minute, and then Wade smirked. "Really not a hero. You'd be. But you're a good person."

"What am I supposed to do with your cripplingly low self-esteem, Wade?"

"Humor me when I pretend I like myself. Hey, this is getting a little too honest. Meet you in the car?"

He was going to jump ship; Peter was sure of it. "How about I stand right here by the door and you sing some pop song so we don't have to talk while you pack?" he countered.

"Damn, you know all my weaknesses," Wade said, zipping his bag.

"Not all of them," Peter muttered.

"I heard that!" Wade yelled as he disappeared into the bedroom. A moment later Peter heard him singing "Hollaback Girl". Peter tapped his foot impatiently, waiting until Wade returned with a backpack and a long, flat case, still singing Gwen Stefani.

" _Let me hear you say I ate some bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S_ \--"

Peter interrupted. "Dude, no...it's 'this shit is bananas'."

Wade stopped suddenly. "No shit?"

"Yes shit."

"Huh."

"Yeah. What's in the case, a sniper rifle?"

"Electric guitar, obviously. C'mon, let's split. This scene had way too much dialogue."

"You're so weird."


	6. Stupid Sexy Wilson

"I can't believe we're hiding out in a cabin in the woods. If this is some Joss Whedon shit I'm gonna be pissed. This is either the setup for a horror film or a cheap romance novel. Or..." Wade narrowed his eyes. "...a bad fanfiction."

"None of the above, man, just real life." Peter dropped his suitcase on the floor and locked the door.

"Honestly, I'd prefer the fanfiction. The OTP always gets together--although with our luck, the OTP's gonna be Gwen and Rogue or something--and sometimes magic happens and makes everything all better."

Peter sat beside Wade on the couch. "I wouldn't know."

"Deus ex machina may be a bad storytelling device, but in real life..." Wade shrugged, muttering, "...I wouldn't mind being pretty again. Cough. Cough."

Peter let that sit for a minute before turning to Wade and saying, "So."

Wade pointed at him. "No. I told you we're not talking about—"

"The letters."

"Oh."

"I'm your boss. I handle your paycheck. You bring me coffee. It's not...it's not ideal."

Wade's mouth dropped open. "That's it? That's not it. Just say you're not into me. Who would be, anyway? You don't gotta make excuses."

"I'm not making excuses! I just—sometimes I think we're best friends and sometimes I don't know you at all. You know me, you know about Uncle Ben and MJ, but I don't even know how old you are, or what you're talking about half the time, or who you're talking to sometimes. And you talk about things I don't understand, and you switch subjects so fast, and, I don't know. I can't get into your headspace."

Wade stood up and moved toward the kitchen. "Trust me, you don't want to."

"I liked your letters." This was a bad idea, but god, it'd been so long since Peter had had someone.

Wade stopped.

"They were hot. And sweet." Peter bit his lip, waiting.

Wade fished a red envelope out of his duffel bag, set it on the coffee table, and went to the kitchen. It sat there, taunting Peter until he opened it.

 

_Peter,_

_I could try for a thousand lifetimes to be the person you deserve but I'd never deserve you. I can't even write well enough. You deserve Shakespeare and I'm ~~George Orwell~~ Dan Brown. Can't write iambic pentameter to save my life._

_I'm starting to wonder if I'm being creepy with this whole anonymous erotic letters thing but you don't seem to be complaining, so I'll keep going. Is it less creepy if I stick to sex or do you like it when I tell you how much you mean to me? Okay, obviously you're not going to answer that...so I will make completely unfounded assumptions and run with them._

_It would take a long time to explain how I got to the point where I didn't know how to exist in my body or in my head anymore but I was so close to breaking, to running back to the people I shouldn't want to see again when I saw you smile across a crowded room, and I discovered that I hadn't lost the ability to love. It was very West Side Story, except you didn't notice me._

_Okay, was that too much? I'm feeling like that was maybe too much. It's all true, but it's also really sappy and over the top. Although to be fair, I am sappy and over the top. (Not a top though, not unless you really want me to be. I'd be anything for you. Great, now I sound desperate. I'm not desperate. I'm just...trying. I don't know.)_

_I think this letter's a little too far gone to get into the sex thing but I can give it a try._

_We should get away. Spend a few days away from the world in the Maldives or the Blue Ridge Mountains. Sit by the window and watch the rain slide down the glass. You sit in my lap and I kiss your neck softly as you sigh and pull my arms around you. I naturally take that as an invitation to unbutton your shirt and slide it off your shoulders. You turn around, and the heat in your eyes thrills every inch of me. I moan as you push me down and kiss me fiercely, and I need you inside me so I squeeze your ass and beg—_

 

Peter dropped the letter and half-ran to the kitchen, grabbing Wade by the arm. "Is this real?" he asked, voice shaking a little.

"In my head," Wade said, swallowing.

"We shouldn't," Peter murmured as he threw his arms around Wade's neck and dragged him down into a sloppy, awkward kiss.

"I know," Wade gasped when they came up for air. "For so many reasons but none of them are the ones you said."

Peter pushed his cap off and pulled down the hood. "This is getting in the way."

"Don't look at me, just kiss me."

Peter growled and grabbed Wade's face in his hands, thumbs stroking the man's cheeks. "It's _okay_." He held Wade's eyes with his own. "I'm going to look at you and you're going to stop flipping out about it, okay? It's _me_."

Wade let out a small whimper, and Peter pushed him against the wall, capturing Wade's lips with his own. Peter knew Wade was stronger than him, but the taller man let himself be pinned to the wall as they made out. Peter finally pulled back, resting his forehead on Wade's, who giggled. "You're short."

Peter bit his ear, eliciting a pleased squeak. "Not where it counts," he breathed.

Wade groaned. "Show me," he demanded.

"Pushy, pushy."

"Peter. Tell me you want this."

"Yes, I do. I've been...I do. I want it. I mean you. I want you."

"This isn't a pity fuck, is it? Because I can't do that. Not with you. With pretty much anyone else, but not you. Wow, I need to remember not to sound like a lonely slut when I'm trying to get it from the man I'm crazy in love with." He clapped a hand over his mouth.

Peter bit back a laugh, pulling Wade's hand down. "You're putting a lot of pressure on me, you know. I'm not some ethereal angel who can save you with love."

"I know. I know that. I make it sound more like saccharine fiction than it really is. I know you're a person and I don't expect you to redeem me from my sad Rigoletto isolation. When I say you saved me I just mean looking at you woke something in me I thought had died. And then I met you, and you were imperfect and beautiful and _good_ and I loved you even more. Are we gonna fuck? I want you in me."

"Fuck yes." Peter unzipped Wade's hoodie and kissed his neck. "And it's _not_ pity. I want to do this, and I want, you know, maybe we could be--"

"Don't make promises right now, baby boy. Make them later when we're basking in the afterglow of orgasm."

"Okay." Peter tugged at the hem of his shirt and bit down lightly on his neck, causing Wade to inhale sharply.

"Hey, hey, don't, don't do that, I really...I look like this all over. Probably better to just leave my clothes on."

"When are you going to believe I'm evolved enough to deal with it? Oh god, scars, no, every body has to look perfect and smooth! What do you think I'm expecting here, Ryan Gosling?"

"Damn, he _is_ hot," Wade agreed. "Why Gosling though? I mean there's so many Canadian hotties named Ryan, like at least two, and what's so great about blue eyes anyway, come on--"

"Shh," Peter whispered as he placed a finger on Wade's lips. Wade shivered, eyes widening. "Arms up."

"Right, okay." Wade obeyed, letting Peter pull his shirt over his head.

"No corset?" Peter whispered, running his hands down Wade's bare chest.

"It's in my bag." He started unbuttoning Peter's shirt.

"I'll remember that for later."

"And it's really just a sheer boned bodice, you know, I'm not trying to fuck up my waist, like I don't have enough deformities to--mmph."

Peter glared at him as he held a hand over Wade's mouth. "No." He held Wade's eyes fiercely, who stared at him wide-eyed until his gaze softened into something vulnerable. Peter kissed his nose and whispered, "I feel like you're trying to talk me out of this. All you have to say is 'stop'." He slid his hand from Wade's mouth to his cheek and waited.

Wade leaned into his hand, and then he cautiously took Peter's face in his hands and kissed him. Peter met him with fervor, looping his arms around the taller man's neck and holding on as Wade's hands dropped to lift Peter by his ass. He backed up to the table and sat on it, Peter straddling him and grinding against him. Wade hummed in pleasure as he finished getting Peter's shirt off and started on his pants.

"Shit," Peter muttered, pulling back.

Wade froze. "What?"

"I don't have any, you know, stuff. I guess we can just do oral or something."

"I have stuff," Wade said quickly, setting Peter down. "Don't move. I will be right back." He ran to the living room and Peter followed.

"Uh, there's a couch, that might be better for--"

"Oh no, it's too late," Wade interrupted, pushing him back into the kitchen. "We're in the kitchen, there's no time to move." He pulled Peter's pants down, wrapping his hand around his cock. "I'm way too turned on to wait another second, I think we'll just have to settle for the kitchen table, it's a real shame."

"You're--god yes--ridiculous," Peter groaned, thrusting into Wade's hand. "Hang on, my turn." He shoved Wade's pants off his hips to reveal... "I fucking knew it."

"You like it."

"I do. Is that...why you wear it?"

"Honestly?" Wade shook his head. "I just like it. I like the way women's underwear feels, always have. Besides, black lace is pretty. Although, you should see my pink satin collection."

"Love to, but not now." Peter slid his fingers under the lacy underwear and pushed it down, freeing Wade's cock. It was scarred like the rest of his body, and Peter suddenly pictured it packaged with the label "Scarred for her pleasure". Wade's genitals were as hairless as the rest of him, which Peter had been idly wondering about for the last year. He suddenly realized there was an important question to be asked before they went any further, but he was afraid it would upset Wade.

"Freaky, right?" Wade said nervously as Peter stared at his dick.

"No," Peter said quickly. "It's lovely, just, uh.... God, I hate to ask, but what you...um, have. Is it contagious?"

"Ha! No. It looks like a plague, doesn't it? But no, just...battle scars, you might say. I don't have anything."

"Okay. Good. I mean...yeah. Good." They kicked off their pants and looked at each other. "Uh, so...which way are we going to do this?"

Wade hopped on the table and laid back. "I'll do whatever, but my gaydar tells me you're a top."

"Usually."

"Good. Come on." He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around the back of his knees.

Peter swallowed and leaned down to retrieve the lube and condom. He could hear Wade's breath coming faster. "It's been a year since I did this," Peter admitted, drizzling the lube on his fingers. "But I think I remember pretty well."

Wade's chest heaved as Peter slid a finger down his perineum to probe at his ass. "Hey, relax," he said gently.

"I'm relaxed, I'm fine, you don't have to do that, you can just go, I can take it."

This man's damage was a lot worse than expected. Peter kissed his thigh. "I don't want you to 'take it', I want you to like it."

"It's really okay," Wade tried to assure him, though he was nervously squeezing his hands together. "I'm a huge masochist."

"Okay, well, let's explore that some other day. Not today."

Wade peered at him from between his legs. "Are you for real?"

Rolling his eyes, Peter licked a stripe up the underside of Wade's erection and tongued it gently, pushing a finger inside him. The texture was strange, partly because Peter had never had his mouth on an uncut cock before, and partly due to the scars, but he found he liked it. Wade was making little pleased humming sounds in his throat, which made Peter smile around his penis. He bent his finger and felt Wade relax around him as he exhaled. As he slid a second finger inside, Peter pulled down Wade's foreskin to suck on his glans better.

"Oh," Wade gasped, "right...right there, with your tongue on the--nngh."

Peter let his cock slip from his mouth, eliciting a frustrated groan from Wade. "Not yet."

"Jerk."

"Absolutely. Question," Peter said, crooking his fingers to brush Wade's prostate.

"What?" Wade squeaked.

"Do Canadians not circumcise?"

"It's like--oh!--like fifty-fifty. Will you just fuck me now?"

"No," Peter replied, but he worked a third finger in, watching Wade's eyes flutter. "You're beautiful, you know."

Wade moaned but it devolved into a laugh. "Yeah," he said sardonically.

"I mean it though. The way you move, the sounds you make...are super hot."

"Right. Wanna fuck me now?"

"I'm thinking about it. I might just finger you for hours instead."

Wade growled. "You're killing me here. Stop playing around and park your goddamned peter, Peter Parker."

Peter choked on spit. "Oh my god," he gasped, coughing, "if you _ever_ say that again you will put me off sex for the rest of my life."

"Okay, how about FUCK ME IN THE ASS RIGHT NOW."

Peter smirked as he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth and smoothed it over his erection.

"Hurry uuuup," Wade whined.

Peter lubed his cock and lined it up against his fingers, sliding them out and pushing the head in slowly, watching the beautiful O Wade's mouth made as Peter filled him up. He bent over the scarred man, searching his face as he waited for him to adjust. After a moment, Wade's eyes popped open. "What are you waiting for?" he asked, sounding a little unsure.

"Just looking at you. Are you okay?"

"I will be when you _move_."

Peter grinned and pulled halfway out, waiting until Wade glared at him before thrusting in and starting a slow but hard rhythm. Despite all the scars, Wade _was_ beautiful in some ways. His eyes were sweet and his movements surprisingly graceful for a man his size. Peter watched, mesmerized by Wade's ecstatic expressions. "Good angle?" he asked, remembering his manners.

"Yeah, just, up a little," Wade managed. Peter obliged, and the gasps turned to throaty moans. "Should--warn you--I scream...when it's good...like this."

Heat was pooling low in Peter's belly, and he pulled Wade's arms from his knees, letting the older man's legs rest on his shoulders. "Scream then," he whispered.

He did, crying out loudly as he came all over his stomach. Peter groaned as Wade clenched around him, gasping as his own orgasm hit.

Wade's legs slid off of Peter's shoulders, and Peter flopped forward onto Wade's chest as they both caught their breath.

"You weren't kidding about the screaming," Peter slurred.

"That was fucking incredible," Wade sighed. "Okay, get up."

"Nnnnnnnn."

"At least pull out?"

Peter sighed, pretending to be very put-upon, and held the condom as he pulled out, tied it, and hurled it in the general direction of the trash can. Wade pushed him to his feet and then carried him, bridal-style, to the couch to lie down.


	7. Red and Black Spandex

"I don't think I've ever had sex with so much talking before," Peter said sleepily, tucking his head under Wade's chin. "You?"

"Yeah," Wade answered, stroking his hair, "but it's usually me doing all the talking. You wouldn't believe how many times I've been threatened with a ball gag."

"I would believe it, actually."

"Didn't hear you complaining, motor-mouth."

Peter huffed a quiet laugh. "Nah." He remembered another question he hoped wasn't off-limits. "Hey, what's in that case you lied about?"

"What case?"

"Wade."

"You're nosy," Wade said. But he slithered out from under Peter and opened the case. "My babies." He set a pair of katanas on the coffee table.

"Swords?" Peter asked, looking at them. "How medieval."

"Memorable, though," Wade said, yawning. He drew them and spun them, while Peter watched, mesmerized.

"How do you do it that fast?"

"Practice." Wade set them back on the table and snuggled up against Peter.

"Do you wanna do the boyfriend thing?" Peter asked, hesitant.

Wade kissed his cheek. "I...jeez, I really do. I haven't been in a relationship in a really long time, but I want to try. I want to be good for you."

Peter nuzzled him. "I've never known you to not be good."

"Well," Wade said slowly, "there's a lot you don't know about me."

At that moment the door exploded, Peter yelled, and Wade shoved him to the ground, putting a foot on his back. Two people in black stormed in, assault rifles aimed directly at Wade, at least from what Peter could tell from his position half under the coffee table.

"Wow, you guys came in at the perfect dramatic moment," Wade remarked. "We're still naked, too, for comedic effect."

"Wade Wilson," one of the invaders said.

"That's my name, try not to wear it out."

"You are to come with us, by order of the United States military," she said. "Put your hands up and surrender."

"Oh, okay, well, I could do that, but the thing is..." His weight vanished from Peter's back as the table thumped. Peter watch, horrified, as Wade ran toward the black-clad gunmen, swinging his swords and yelling, "I'm Canadian, motherfuckers!"

There was no way they could have missed. Sprays of bullets hit the wall as the soldiers tried to kill Wade, but he kept coming until he was close enough to smash them both in the head with the handles of his katanas. The gunfire stopped, and Wade turned around. He was covered in blood, but he smiled a lopsided grin at Peter before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on the ground.

"NO!" Peter screamed, scrambling to get up and get to him. "Wade, come on, oh my god, fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen, no, no, _no_!" Wade was peppered with bullet holes, blood dripped from his open mouth, and skin was ripped open along his cheek where a bullet had grazed it. "Fuck, fuck, what do I do?" Peter choked as tears poured from his eyes. "You said you could handle yourself, you promised!" He took hold of Wade's dead hand and sobbed. "You promised."

The hand squeezed back. Peter jerked as Wade's eyes opened. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

"What the _fuck_?"

"Hang on." Wade sat up, grunting, with a look of focus. Bullets forced their way to the surface and fell out of him, and wounds healed themselves as Peter watched in shock. "Aww, gross," Wade said, coughing and spitting out a round. "No wonder I went under. Right in the mouth."

Peter backed away.

"No, baby, it's okay, it was just a flesh wound. Besides, I'm invincible."

"Is that it?" Peter pointed at him, horrified. "Stryker. Human experimentation."

Wade sighed. "Yeah, I might have explaining to do."

Peter suddenly realized his hand was covered in blood. Wade's blood. Wade who was either dead or somehow unkillable. He couldn't stop staring at it. There was pressure on his back but the walls were closing in, and he couldn't find his bearings, because the world was imploding, and then his face was being forced upward and Wade was saying "breathe, breathe, in, out, in, and out, come on, focus on me, Peter, in and out."

Peter tried to follow the instructions, inhaling and exhaling as directed, until he could focus again, and Wade was there, Wade was alive, and Peter hit him, which he immediately regretted. "Oh my god," he moaned. "I'm sorry, jesus, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I don't know what's happening, you were dead, and now you're not--"

"It's okay," his high voice soothed as strong arms drew Peter close. "It's okay, I'm sorry. I can't die. I didn't know how to tell you. Come on, sit down."

"No, uh," he sniffled. "People, dangerous, do something." He shook himself. "We gotta tie them up or something."

"Yeah, good call." Wade sounded uncertain. "I don't think I unalived them. I tried not to. I didn't think you'd want me to."

Peter laughed despite himself. "Unalive?"

"Yeah, never mind." Wade let Peter go and pulled some handcuffs out of his duffel bag to secure the likely-concussed prisoners.

"Why do you have--fuck it, I don't even care." Peter watched as Wade, blood still dripping down his body, cuffed the prisoners and removed their weapons and armor. "You just attacked army soldiers," Peter said suddenly. "We're so fucked; we have to run."

"Nah," Wade said casually. "The chick actually said 'by order of the US military'. Who says that? No one. If she actually had orders she'd've mentioned the general, or the branch, or even just said US Government. United States military is too vague to be legit. They're mercenaries."

"We should get them to the hospital though," Peter said.

"Can't, we're in the middle of nowhere."

"I'll call Stark then."

***

"You guys look really nice," Tony remarked to the blood-soaked men who had wrapped bed sheets around themselves in a half-assed attempt at modesty. "Those are 1000 count Egyptian cotton, but I'm thinking the dye job will really give them a little something extra. White and red is very in right now."

"Oh shut up," Peter muttered, pulling the sheet tighter. "Can you just do something with them so we can get cleaned up?"

"This one's dead," Steve said quietly, pulling his hand from the merc's neck.

"Oh, fuck me," Wade sighed. "I didn't mean to. I was trying to incapacitate but shit happens. I'm sorry."

The surviving mercenary groaned from the floor.

"Should we maybe get the FBI here or something?" Peter asked, fidgeting.

Tony shrugged. "It'll work out. I'm gonna turn these two over to them once I get this one medical care. I suspect you won't be prosecuted for killing a mercenary and I can provide video footage for a trial if necessary."

"Wait." Steve frowned. "Whose blood is everywhere?"

Peter swallowed and tried not to look at Wade, who whistled nonchalantly.

Steve snorted. "That's subtle. Explain?"

"I don't wanna," Wade whined, pouting.

"You took out two mercenaries with assault rifles. Want to explain that?"

"Noooo."

Steve redirected his efforts to Peter. "We've got surveillance footage anyway. We're going to see what happened."

Peter's face heated up. "Um, don't...don't do that."

Wade tittered. "Yeah there's about twenty minutes in the kitchen you might not want to see...or hey, maybe you do."

"No, oh my god, why can't you just tell them!"

There was a moment of tension as Tony and Steve looked at Wade expectantly before he broke. "Fine, _god_ , you people are nosy. It's my blood. I got shot like a hundred times and bled everywhere. Look at me in all my beautiful glory; I'm a monster with a healing factor better than Wolverine's. I have a storied past and I'm really good at killing people. Don't tell anyone because I will track you down and kill you and I don't want to do that because then Peter will be mad and you don't want to be the cause of trouble in paradise, do you? No. So keep your mouths shut."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Are you seriously threatening us?"

"No!" Peter interjected as Wade declared, "Yes."

"Nooo," Peter said again, pushing Wade away from Tony and Steve. "No threatening. And no secret telling."

"Wait a minute," Tony said, searching Wade's face. "Are you the Dead--"

"NOOOO!!" Wade yelled. "Jesus, can you let me explain things to Peter before you go yelling spoilers all over the place? We can talk later. Get that dude to a hospital and let us clean up."

"Excuse me, you just wrecked my cabin, so you can shove--"

"Tony," Steve murmured, laying a hand on his arm. "Let's give them some space."

It was amazing to watch a puffed up Stark deflate so quickly with only a touch from his husband. "Fine. But this conversation isn't over."

"Fine." Wade crossed his arms, letting go of the sheet.

"Oh god!" Tony snapped, shielding his eyes. "I did not want to see that!" He stormed out of the cabin, followed by Steve, who was carrying the mercs over his shoulders.

"See you later," Steve said politely.

***

"Is there a shower in this place?" Wade yawned. "You're covered in cancerous Wolverine-infused blood."

"What the fuck? Wolverines?"

"Long story."

"I get that, and you're going to tell it to me while we shower."

Wade dropped his head. "Okay."

The shower was ridiculously luxurious, with incredible pressure, slate tiles, three showerheads, and expensive-looking bath products. "Man, Stark doesn't mess around," Peter said, sniffing at one of the five shampoos. "Wish I had this kind of money."

"Having this kind of money and knowing how to spend it are two completely different things," Wade said, eyes closed as he stood under the rushing water. Blood pooled at his feet and swirled down the drain. "But don't think for one second that Stark sleeps well on his bed made out of money."

"Meaning?"

"He made his fortune on weapons. Wealth that comes from violence is awesome unless, like Stark, you eventually realize what a monster you are. Then all the money in the world can't make up for the blackness in your soul." He cracked open an eye. "Whatever a soul is."

"You gonna explain everything now?" Peter asked, crossing his arms.

"I guess."

Peter waited, but Wade said nothing. "Is your blood going to do something to me?" he asked.

"Nah. It's not that simple."

Silence. Peter finally got fed up. "Look, we just got attacked by mercenaries, one of whom you killed. In front of me. I'm trying not to flip out here--again--but I watched you die and I'm feeling very panicky and I really think I deserve some explanation! Are you even human?"

Wade let out a nervous laugh. "For a given value of human...yes. For another, no. I can explain and I will. I was just really enjoying you liking me. But I guess that's over, so..." He straightened and opened his eyes. "My hair was sort of a dark blond, if you can picture it. I had nice cheekbones and some people even referred to me as 'cute'."

"And?"

"You gotta understand, my life hasn't been easy. I became a mercenary because I...I don't know, I wanted to feel powerful. I thought making other people pay for what had been done to me would make the pain stop. But it didn't last."

Peter sat down. "You were a mercenary?"

"Yeah. Killed a lot of people. Not all them deserved it. I worked for all sorts of interests. Military, private, anyone with money. My dad taught me violence was the only way to get through to people. My mom taught me that when you have power over someone, you can make them do whatever you want. I was doing pretty good for myself for certifiably insane asshole. Although, I hide that pretty well, don't I?"

"Uh?"

"Yeah, don't answer that. Anyway, then I got brain cancer. Inoperable. Death imminent, huge bummer. I was scared. I'd come to terms with the voices and the ADHD--not that I had a name for it then--but like, I'd thought about killing myself when I was a kid, a lot, but I never made any kind of peace with death. I learned to fight to keep it away from me. So I was fucking terrified. Then Stryker finds me, and I tell him I've got a brain tumor and weeks to live. He says he might fix me, and I went with him, let him and his pet mad scientist Killebrew play with my body in hopes they could save it. That I could be like J--Wolverine."

There was that animal again. "Do wolverines not get cancer or something?" Peter asked, confused.

"Oh boy. Are you aware of the existence of mutant humans?"

"Mutant...what?"

Wade sighed. "Okay, hold on, I'm trying to remember the opening speech. Uh... 'Space, the final frontier', no, wait, that's the wrong one...shit. Oh! Got it. 'Mutation: it is the key to our evolution. It's enabled us to evolve from blah blah blah, process is slow, thousands of years, but every few hundred millennia, evolution leaps forward!'"

"Meaning?"

"Science bullshit that doesn't really make sense but sounds good when you're trying to justify the existence of people with magic powers. The point is, some people are born with a mutation that gives them special abilities like telepathy, healing powers, extra bones, agility, changing matter from substantial to insubstantial and back, flying, controlling metal, all sorts of good stuff. If you want, I can give you severe paranoia by telling you about Mystique."

"So you're a mutant."

"No. Actually this is a fun parallel, see, I'm pansexual, right, not gay enough for the gays and too gay for the straights, well, you understand that, and I've got a mutation, but I wasn't _born_ with it, so I'm too mutant for the humans and not mutant enough for the mutants. Nobody wants me, not that that's anything new."

"Why do you talk about yourself like you're...a character in a book, or something?"

"Ha! We all are, baby boy. Hey, can I hold your hand? I know I'm shit, but I fucking hate this part of my tragic origin story. I'm manipulative enough to ask for affection when I need it."

Wade had that sad smile he always wore when he was a little too tired to feign exuberant cheerfulness, and Peter couldn't turn him down. He wasn't certain how to take all this information, and he almost asked what or who "Mystique" was or whether Wade was being metaphorical about the fictional character thing but decided to put those aside for later. Wade was too distractible, and Peter needed other answers first. He took Wade's hands and squeezed gently. "You're not shit; I'm just a little lost here. Keep going, please."

"Ugh. Where was I? Wolverine. Right. So Wolverine is this mutant who has a kickass healing factor. Pretty much can't die. And Stryker manipulates him to steal a sample of his DNA or whatever, which Killebrew integrates with mine. They thought it would kill the cancer. Sounds reasonable, right?"

"Sure."

"Wrong! Cancer is not separate from the person who has it! It's an overgrowth of cells! And Wolfie's DNA can't differentiate between the cells I should have and the cells I shouldn't have and that's how I ended up with cancer all over me, and it hurts _all the time_. But I guess I deserve it."

"No." Peter tugged him down to sit on the slate bench under the gentle warm waterfall. "I don't think anyone deserves that."

Wade's fingers tightened around Peter's hand. "You know when labs do awful tests on rats and sometimes the rats have real bad reactions and they just...let them die, or euthanize them, or incinerate them or whatever?"

"Wade..."

"That's me. The broken lab rat. Failed science experiment. Except I wasn't a total failure, because they couldn't kill me, so Stryker handed me over to Dr. Killebrew, and that was..." He took a shuddering breath and continued. "He did...whatever he wanted to me. Like I wasn't real. Like I was a dog. I--" He choked, and Peter could see tears slipping down Wade's cheeks before he leaned his face under the water to wash them away.

Peter released his hand to slide his arms around Wade's broad shoulders, unsure of what to say. It was a lot to take in, and Wade was clearly a victim in some ways, although he had admitted to killing innocent people.

"It was fucked up," Wade muttered. "They called the place 'The Hospice' because they experimented on rogue operatives until we died. The doctors even made bets on who would die first. Put all their money in a 'deadpool'. When I got away and destroyed the place, I took the name. Went back to merc work as 'Deadpool'. Didn't care what jobs I took 'cause I figured as long as I was making money, I had independence and security. And I was really tired of the world shitting on me and laughing. But I was too afraid to try and kill Stryker. And now he knows where I am." He pressed his forehead against Peter's. "I don't know what to do."

"You don't know that he knows. Maybe Pierce sent the mercs because of the bank statements."

"Maybe." Wade did not sound convinced.

"Why'd you stop being a sellsword? Or...did you stop?"

Wade sighed. "I was sent to kill a woman. I'm not sure what she did, but I was ready to do it, and then her little girl runs in the room and gets in front of her, _begs_ me not to hurt her mommy. She was bald, and I realized she had cancer, and I just ran. I hated myself so much. I wanted to die, and god did I try, but of course, nothing worked." He shook his head. "I don't know how to live anymore. I've been sleeping with Logan, or I was until a couple weeks ago, and I knew it was fucked up, but at least he was touching me, and I needed _something_."

"Why was it fucked up, exactly?"

"Oh, come on, Petey, you've seen us. We fight at the drop of a hat. I bait him and he beats me up because he doesn't care. 'Cause he knows it won't stick."

"Why do you bait him though?"

"'Cause fuck him. If he hadn't been so stupid, Stryker wouldn't have gotten his DNA, and I'd be in the ground where I belong."

"Wait, _Logan_ is Wolverine?"

"Oops," Wade said without a trace of sincerity.

"So that's how you two know each other."

"Kinda. Anyway we're not fucking anymore. It's not good for me."

"So...why'd you come to S & P?"

"Oh, this is nauseating. Like bad rom com nauseating. Although maybe it's a little Shakespearean. I saw you in Off the Grounds and it was like fucking West Side Story. You smiled and it was like goddamn sunshine and I thought you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and I wanted you. I know it's stupid, but it was love at first sight for me. Little pink hearts above my head and everything. And I thought maybe existing wouldn't hurt so much if I could just bask in your warmth. So I followed you, saw the 'hiring' sign out front and went for it. Logan showing up was unexpected, but life is strange."

"Yeah, why did you insist that we take him on?"

"Are you kidding? You were making _eyes_ at that other guy. I'm selfish. Besides, I didn't want anyone vying for my place as the tallest. Um and also, he was _clearly_ a douchebag. Who wears gaudy rings like that anyway?"

Peter searched his face until Wade shrugged away uncomfortably and lay on the floor of the shower. The water was still hot, and Peter would have felt bad about the waste of electricity, but Stark powered this place with some special generator so he figured no harm done. That wasn't the important thing. He had decisions to make. The level of violence that Wade—or Deadpool—brought with him wasn't something Peter wanted in his life. On the other hand, Wade didn't seem to want it anymore either. Peter had known he struggled with some kind of mental illness, although he hadn't realized the severity of Wade's PTSD and depression. Rationally, Deadpool was not someone any reasonable person would want as part of their life, but Peter didn't know Deadpool. He knew Wade Wilson: lonely, happy-go-lucky, fake-it-'til-you-make-it, and desperate for attention Wade Wilson.

The tragedies in his own life paled in comparison to Wade's. Losing his parents at a young age had been awful, but at least they hadn't abused him, as Wade had implied his own had. But Peter had never killed, and the thought made him nauseated. Wade had so much blood on his hands.

He was trying, though, and wasn't that more important than what he'd been driven to in the past? Peter decided it was. For now, at least. Because what it came down to was this: He was a fucked up, lonely soul pretending he loved life until he believed it himself, and Peter might just be in love with him. Maybe not yet, but he knew that he could. He still had a million questions, but they could wait. What Wade needed now was a self-esteem boost, and there was one thing Peter had been wondering since Wade had mentioned his sellsword past.

"Did you have an outfit when you were a merc?"

"Red and black spandex. Lots of pouches."

Peter flipped him over and crawled on top. "I'll have to see that." He cupped Wade's cheek in his hand. "I won't let them get you again."

"Why?"

"I like you."

"Then you're an idiot."

"I'll be your idiot if you'll be my asshole. Fuck, no, that's not what I--mmm." Peter hummed as Wade kissed him. "Wait, wait a minute."

"What?"

"Look, I do need time to, you know, understand it all. But I want to be with you. But no killing Steve and Tony, okay?"

"I know, I know. You gotta understand, though, if Stryker finds me I may have to kill him. If I ever see Killebrew again I _will_ kill him. I want to be good for you, but I know myself a little too well to think I can forgive that bastard."

"I..." Peter dropped his head onto Wade's chest, thinking. If everything Wade had said was true, then as much as Peter didn't want a violent killer as a boyfriend, he couldn't entirely disagree with killing the doctor. Hell, Peter kind of wanted to kill the man himself. "I hope you can find some peace, but I think I understand."

"This is it, I've finally cracked completely and I'm hallucinating a perfect fantasy, but don't stop me, I will keep it, it is very nice. Wait, if it's a perfect fantasy, can I be pretty again?"

"You are pretty."

"You're a goddamn liar. That's okay, lie to me all you want. I like compliments; I don't care if they're real."

"You solipsistic narcissist."

"How dare you."

Peter laughed, running his fingers along Wade's skin. "Does it hurt when I touch you?" he asked. "Am I making things worse by being on top of you?"

Wade's arms came up to embrace him. "My body hasn't stopped hurting since I...since this happened, and it never will. But...I like being touched. It makes me feel, I dunno, real." His arms tightened. "I really was pretty," he sighed. "Like the guy with the stupid ring."

"He was cute," Peter sighed, just to annoy Wade, who huffed and rolled his eyes. Peter kissed him when something Wade had said early suddenly registered. "Voices," he said.

"Hmm?"

"You said...you said you got used to voices."

"Did I? I don't remember that."

"You're such a liar!"

"How could you."

"What were you talking about? Do you hear voices?"

Wade looked away. "You're gonna think I'm crazy."

"I _know_ you're crazy but here I am."

"It's rude to use that term, you know."

"You just said it!"

"I'm reclaiming it."

"Oh COME ON."

"I have voices in my head, okay? One of 'em is me, and the other might be me, might be someone else. I don't know. I can't get rid of them and I'm not gonna try. They're...really my closest friends. So there, I'm crazy."

"That's weird."

"I know. Jesus, I know. I'm weird. Everyone knows I'm weird. No one seems to realize how much I'm hiding." Wade sniffled. "Seems like every time I get something good I lose it. But I probably deserve it."

"No," Peter said quickly, shaking his head. "No."

"No?"

"Is it not registering with you that I'm still right here?"

"No, I got that, but I know this story. I spill my guts to you, you feign sympathy, and then you get scared and leave me. Or even better, you're already scared, and you're humoring me because you think I'm crazy and dangerous, and as soon as we get back to civilization you'll run away from me."

"Don't tell me what I'm going to do," Peter said, glaring.

"Look, just tell me now if you're going to--mm." Wade melted into the kiss as Peter held him in place with a hand on the back of his neck. His breathing grew heavier as Peter licked into his mouth, sliding his tongue against Wade's, who whined when Peter released his lips to kiss along his face and whisper into his ear.

"Oh, I'm definitely going to."

Wade cupped his cheek and held his gaze. "You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

"I know." Peter sat up. "We should get back to civilization."

"I suppose," Wade said, sighing.


	8. Good Connections

"So here's the deal," Steve said, exuding authority as usual. "We've turned over all the intel to five different papers."

"I want to be _paid_ for that," Christine grumbled.

"You will be," Steve assured her. "I sold your article to the New York Times. Your testimonies should keep Pierce in jail, and Stryker's been ruined with this information. I expect you all to do your part in court."

"Bossy boots," Bucky muttered, much to the amusement of Clint, who was lying with his head in Bucky's lap. "Yes, sir, we'll all do our patriotic duty, thank you sir, golly gosh."

"That's quite enough from you, James," Peggy ordered, the laughter in her eyes belying her words. Angie tightened her arms around Peggy's waist.

Wade raised his hand. "So I'm not getting...y'know, prosecuted for murder? It wouldn't be the first time, but I kinda wanna stay here this time." Peter squeezed his hand.

Tony snorted. "She was just a mercenary. With the trouble the entire local police force is in, no one's going to worry about prosecuting that, which we can prove was self defense."

"Not without exposing me you can't," Wade pointed out. "I was hoping to avoid getting noticed. I'm on a number of shitlists."

"As much as I want to not care," Tony said, "as a special favor to Parker, I will do what I can to limit the number of people that see that footage. Also, if you hurt him _I_ will track you down and kill you."

Wade grinned. "I like you. If that's all, kiddies?"

"That's all," Steve conceded. "Not you, Buck, we are going to have a _talk_."

"Yes, dear," Bucky said brightly as Wade tugged Peter to the elevator.

"I vote we get Mexican. My treat."

Peter cocked his head. "Why Mexican?"

"Because no fic is complete without me yelling 'Chimichangas!' I don't make the rules."

"How about Indian?"

"Heresy. It's one of my principal traits that I like Mexican food. Ah, that's not even true. I just saying 'chimichangas'."

"Thai?"

"Ooh. I do like Thai. Okay, Thai it is."

Hand in hand, they left Stark Tower for their first date.


	9. Dragonscale Gloves

"LOGAN HAS A BOOOOOOOYFRIEND," Wade sang loudly as he opened the front door of the office. "Holy shit, Alan Cumming! Big fan, can I have your autograph? Are you cosplaying? You look fabulous."

"Fuck off, Deadpool," Logan growled.

"That is Deadpool?" the blue man with yellow eyes asked in a German accent. "You work with him?"

"Yeah," Logan said. "Unfortunately. He's an idiot. I'll see you later, Kurt."

"KURT!" Wade said happily. "I remember you from another timeline!"

"He's crazy," Logan said in a stage whisper. "Ignore him." He kissed Kurt's cheek and shoved Wade back inside.

"You're dating Nightcrawler," Wade said, laughing. "Too perfect, oh my god. Are you gonna have half-blue mutant babies?"

"Says the guy who dated Nathan Summers. You didn't have half-metal, half-cancer babies. Ugh, I don't even want to picture it."

"Who's Nathan Summers?" Peter asked from the kitchen.

"What do you mean, mutant babies?" Gwen demanded.

"Nothing," Logan and Wade said at the same time.

"You guys have been so _weird_ since the thing with Pierce."

"I resent that," Wade said. "I have always been weird."

"Ugh." Gwen took her coffee and bagel from Rogue and went to her office.

The lavender envelope sat on her desk with her name in the center. If Wade was writing her filthy letters, she was going to kill him. Although to be fair, "Gwen" wasn't written in neat calligraphy like "Peter" had been. She opened the letter to read it.

 

_Dear Gwen,_

_I feel that we've been dancing around something for a long time now. I hope it isn't just wishful thinking on my part. I'm not good at flirting, usually, but my secret power is to absorb other people's powers, and someone's idea of flirtation has transferred to me temporarily. Okay, that sounded really dumb, but it worked for him._

_You are so beautiful. The way your eyes shine when you smile is irresistible. And you're smart, and powerful, and you don't let people push you around, and I really like you. So I was hoping we could be more than friends._

_Yours in dragonscale gloves_

 

Wade was loudly wondering how hooking up with Kurt was ("Does he teleport when he gets off? Oh my god oh my god oh my god. Are you getting any TAIL?") when Gwen popped out of the office, strode over to Rogue, and asked, "You got any plans tonight?"

Rogue swallowed. "Uh, no."

"You do now." Gwen kissed Rogue's cheek, turned, and went back to her office. Rogue grinned and gave a dazed thumbs up to Wade, who threw her a sloppy salute.

"So," Wade said, grinning, "triple wedding?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr! I'd love to hang out with you at [agirlwithachakram](http://www.agirlwithachakram.tumblr.com) so feel free to follow or shoot me a message or both. Thanks for reading. It's been a pleasure.


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